agitation when
Barbara had passed him that evening of the party had disagreeably
haunted her. It had so moved her that, truth to tell, she mourned over
Howard's death more because it served to withdraw an obstacle between
these two than for any other reason. That mere girl, she thought, might
prove a formidable rival. All the more had it seemed so, since she daily
saw what a lovely, noble young woman Barbara really was, and how worthy
a companion, even for Mr. Sumner.

So every moment he had devoted to herself or had seemed to choose to be
in her own society, was an especial cause for self-congratulation. But
now she furtively clinched her little gloved hand, and the lids lowered
over her beautiful eyes as they grew hard, and she did not wish to talk.

"I wonder what is the matter with Lucile" (for so Miss Sherman had
begged to be called), Mrs. Douglas queried with herself that night, and
sought among the events of the day for some possible explanation. "She
seems as if hurt by something." Suddenly the thought flashed into her
mind: "Can it be because Robert left us to drive with the others? Can it
be that she has learned to care for him so much as that?" And her
woman's nature overflowed with sympathy at the suggestion of such an
interpretation.

She had not forgotten the desire that crept into her heart that morning
of the day they spent at Fiesole; and now came the glad belief that if
Miss Sherman had really learned to love her brother, it must be that in
time he would feel it, and yield to the sweetness of her affection. She
did not wonder that Lucile should love her darling brother. Indeed, how
could any woman help it? And she was so sensitive that she might acutely
feel even such a little thing as his not returning in the carriage with
them. And her quietness might have been caused by the disappointment.
She would be herself the next morning; and Mrs. Douglas resolved to be
only kinder and more loving than ever to her.

And, indeed, the next morning the clouds were all dissipated, and Miss
Sherman accepted, with her usual sweet smile, her portion of the flowers
that Mr. Sumner brought to the ladies of his party.

But the night just passed would never be forgotten by Robert Sumner, and
had marked a vital change in his life. He had walked the floor of his
moonlighted room until the early morning hours, his thoughts given
wholly to the great subject Malcom's unconscious words had opened within
his mind. Could it